


Safe Keeping

by Sparkleymask



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Intimacy, Light Angst, M/M, Pillow Talk, Post-Game(s), Reminiscing, romantic nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkleymask/pseuds/Sparkleymask
Summary: “That’s when I knew.”

  Bull glanced up from the sheaf of letters in his hand. Dorian lay opposite him, resting on a pillow propped at the foot of the bed so he could comfortably watch Bull sitting against the headboard. “Knew what?”
  Dorian smiled, soft, but undeniably smug. “That you loved me.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kahlan_Amnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahlan_Amnell/gifts).



> A not-quite-straightforward interpretation of the prompt _"Either (or both) of them realise what they have has the makings of A Good Thing™, and proceed to woo the other."_

“That’s when I knew.”

Bull glanced up from the sheaf of letters in his hand. Dorian lay opposite him, resting on a pillow propped at the foot of the bed so he could comfortably watch Bull as he sat against the headboard. “Knew what?”

Dorian smiled, soft, but undeniably smug. “That you loved me.”

“When I got you the key to the vault library?” 

Dorian was naked but for the sheet draped across his waist; only there, so he claimed, in order that he not prove a distraction to Bull while he was reading. This argument was undermined by the fact that he immediately started talking and running the edge of his foot along the outside of Bull’s thigh.

“It was very romantic.”

Shit, but he loved it when Dorian got playful like this. There had been a time, not so very long ago in the grand scheme of things, when he would have balked at the vaguest mention of this topic.

He crooked a smile and returned his attention to the letters. “Not on purpose.”

Dorian prodded him in the side with his toes. “You’re telling me that wasn’t a calculated attempt to win my favour?”

“I just thought you’d like it.”

He recalled, surprisingly well, Dorian’s delight on realising what the key unlocked. They had gone down to the vault together, Dorian flicking enthusiastically through no-doubt priceless volumes for careless seconds before moving on to the next one, while Bull had watched him with a kind of warm satisfaction that he hadn’t cared to examine at the time.

“I had been trying to convince Malika to let me in there for months,” said Dorian, stretching one arm behind his head and rearranging himself against the pillow. “She kept telling me they were still clearing out the giant spiders.”

Bull chuckled. He could hear her voice in his head. “She was probably thinking of how you treated the books in the main library.”

“I was always careful with the good ones.”

Dorian turned his head towards the window. Slats of late morning sunlight lay across the bed, lightening the skin of Dorian’s stomach in neat blocks. It was warm, even this late in the year. He missed Skyhold sometimes, but one of the many things that made the villa superior was the increased tendency for Dorian to lie around naked.

He caught himself following the line of Dorian’s raised arm, taut muscle to the bent elbow supporting his head. He looked back down at the paper in his hand, and gamely read a sentence for the third time.

The truth was, Cadash had promised private access to the vault library to Solas, a simple request gladly granted in return for leading them to Skyhold. Both he and Dorian knew this, and it was by unspoken, mutual agreement that they pretended not to.

Dorian’s expression had turned distant, and Bull wondered if his thoughts had run along the same lines.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

Dorian’s attention returned from wherever it had wandered. He tilted his head slightly, an invitation to elaborate.

“When I gave you the key. I didn’t know I loved you.”

Dorian smiled again, slow, happy. The first day, it always took a bit more to draw his smiles out, and they were wearier when they appeared. But three days in they came easily, like the weight of Tevinter had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Well, you’ve always been a little slow.”

Bull caught hold of Dorian’s ankle, tugged so he slid gracelessly from the pillow onto his back. He grinned at Bull from his new position, aimed an ineffectual kick at Bull’s side, and folded his arms back behind his head. “All I know is,” he said after a moment, “you were happy that I was happy. That…meant a great deal.”

They could stay here, Bull thought, suddenly. No one in Tevinter knew where they were. The Chargers already did perfectly well under Krem’s leadership during his absences. Nothing was stopping them.

The thought was fierce but brief, quickly dismissed.

He looked down at the sentence for the fourth time. _Your services have come highly recommended to me by…_

Dorian’s foot again, not prodding this time, but sliding lazily along his thigh to rest at his hip. “When did you know that I loved you?” he said, a momentary increase of pressure on Bull’s flesh. “Surely before I told you as much.”

Bull finally laid the papers down beside him. He slid his hand up Dorian’s calf instead, feeling the muscle flex beneath his palm as he gave the question some thought.

Dorian made a quiet, content sound under his breath.

“When you let me mess up your hair,” he said eventually.

Dorian laughed. “Don’t be facetious. I let you mess up my hair the first time I went on my knees for you.”

And wasn’t that an image, still potent even after so many years. His fingers tightened marginally on Dorian’s leg, almost of their own accord.

“Not like that.” He paused, letting the memory fix itself in his mind. “It was a game of Wicked Grace. Can’t remember exactly who was there. Varric, Cassandra – Cadash too, I think. I had my arm round you. Started messing with your hair. You didn’t say anything.”

There had been so many card games in the days of the Inquisition, too many to count, and if he couldn’t remember much else about it, he remembered this: Dorian, his own cards long abandoned, chair pushed close to his, relaxed against his side.

It had been late and Dorian had been tired, for sure, but not drunk. Bull, running the tips of his fingers through the short hair at his nape, then up to the back of his head, soft tugs at the strands, a casual caress. Dorian, too subtle for anyone else at the table to notice, had leaned into the touch.

“You maybe don’t remember. No reason why you would.”

“No, I remember.” Dorian raised himself onto his elbows to look at him properly. Years ago, his expression would have been seductive, challenging; these days, that guarded calculation had been replaced by an honest desire that was twice as effective. “Would you like to mess it up now?”

It was not quite the same proposition as it had been back then – Dorian’s hair was longer now, less painstakingly styled, and in fact already in quite a messy state. Still, Bull was hardly about to argue as Dorian rose, the sheet slipping free, before seating himself in Bull’s lap.

Bull dutifully ran a hand through his hair, pressing his fingertips into the scalp until Dorian sighed with pleasure. They kissed almost as an afterthought, gentle and without heat.

Bull rested his hand at Dorian’s hip, thumb along the line of his groin. Another memory, drawn to the forefront by their conversation, brought a sly grin to his face. “But I didn’t know for sure until you took me dancing in Val Royeaux.”

“I did not ‘take you dancing’,” said Dorian, clearly aiming for indignant but betrayed by a sheepish smile. “It was an official diplomatic engagement.”

“That you took me to,” said Bull, enjoying the hint of colour at Dorian’s cheeks, “for dancing.”

It was a teasing exaggeration, but not by much. While they had of course planned to meet, there had been no expectation that they would do so in an official capacity. Dorian had been scheduled to be in the city for three days, and Bull had been perfectly prepared to monopolise the time between other commitments.

But Dorian had invited him, casually, as if it was nothing, as if it was something they did all the time. _Wear a shirt_ , he had said, _and be polite_ , and nothing more. They had met at the gates of the estate, and entered arm in arm.

“I’d never been courted before.”

Dorian laughed. “I wasn’t…” He shifted in Bull’s hold, skin against skin. “Alright. I suppose I was.”

“I was flattered.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dorian nudged him hard in the ribs, then changed tack and kissed him instead.

Bull ran his hands up Dorian’s back, skin warm, smooth but for the few small nicked scars and that one long ridge from a Venatori blade that for a while Dorian wouldn’t let him touch; up to the strong curve of his neck, the hinge of his jaw.

And he thought about dancing. Something of a minor scandal, back when Dorian still allowed himself to make them, back when the worst that could result was a few weeks of Orlesian gossip, and not the collapse of everything Dorian had worked years to establish or assassins dispatched to Bull’s door.

Scandal had been incidental, though, not the aim. To be openly with a partner he loved had been a long-held desire for Dorian, and Bull had wanted it for him. But that had been the night he realised he wanted it for himself, too.

Dorian’s fingers trailed along the base of his horns, then down to cup his cheeks as he pulled back. He stroked a thumb across the scars beneath Bull’s missing eye, a casual touch. There had been a time when similar touches had been loaded with meaning, when Dorian seemed compelled to reassure Bull that he loved even this part of him. Bull hadn’t needed the reassurance, though he appreciated the intention.

Still, he preferred this, touch for its own sake, far more.

“You looked so handsome I thought Madame Dumell was going to faint,” said Dorian, seeming almost as delighted by the prospect as he had at the time.

Bull ran his fingers lightly back down Dorian’s spine to rest at the base, a spot he knew was particularly sensitive. “Nothing to do with you bringing a Tal Vashoth to her party?”

Dorian chuckled, a breathy sound to go with the interest Bull could feel stirring between their bodies. “Perhaps a little. But it was mostly due to how dashing you were in that outfit, I'm certain.”

“Dashing,” Bull said, and would have felt mocked, if Dorian hadn’t sounded for all the world like he believed it. _You’re perfect,_ Dorian had said, after the ball, whispered into his skin as he peeled away the layers of clothing, _everything I could want…_

Bull wrapped his arm round Dorian and turned them, laying him out beneath him. He lowered his head to kiss his neck, mouth tracing the fluttering pulse and stubble Dorian always allowed to grow until the day before returning to Qarinus.

“Yes. Oh…”

Bull drew back just enough to speak. Dorian’s fingers dug into his arms. “So what do you want to do today?”

The answer didn’t come in words, but in Dorian’s legs circling his waist, and in his mouth insistent on Bull’s own. The sun was high in the sky already, but they had time, Bull thought. 

They still had two days left at the villa. And after that, the rest of their lives.


End file.
